Hidden in Plain Sight
by UnluckyWriter
Summary: America has had sex with every nation...except England. Bored, he decides to embark on a quest to get into a certain Brit's pants by wooing him. An unwilling England is intent on not letting that particular scheme work. Who will win? INDEFINITE HIATUS. Up for ADOPTION. Please PM for details.
1. Chapter 1

_Hidden In Plain Sight_

_**UnluckyWriter**__**: Well… Okay. I **__**know**__** I have like, what, TONS of fanfics to finish and whatnot… But I'm a procrastinator. And an unmotivated person to boot! I need threats, motivation, and friggin' inspiration to be able to write and update and shitck like that, okay? And since I have none of those things at this moment… I got torpedoed with another goddamn kamikaze plot bunny. Yeah. Bite me. Title sucks, I know, but I couldn't think of anything else! Maybe I'll change it later… Anyways, I REALLY don't know how the hell I got this idea…seriously. It just…fell into my mind. I'm a major USUK-shipper (my love! And 'sides, US belongs only to UK….XD), so writing that America (the douche), or England (the jerk) was with other people makes me highly uncomfortable (actually, it makes me wanna barf, but that doesn't sound as nice)…yet I'm writing THIS. W.T.F? Someone must've spiked my food with writing crack or whatever…I'm going to hunt them down and kill them.**_

_**Rating**__**: M**_

_**Warnings**__**: Cursing, OOCness (damn), sexual themes, **__**possible**__** lemon later, slash, yaoi, sexy-ness (not), and blah! And this is going to be written crappy, so I apologize! I'm sorry that my writing suck ass. **_

_**Pairings**__**: USUK, past America/World, and various others…**_

_**Summary**__**: America has had sex with every single nation…except England. Bored, he decides to embark on a quest to get into a certain Brit's pants by wooing him. An unwilling England is intent on not letting that particular scheme work. Who will win?**_

_**Disclaimer**__**: You know, I **__**hate**__** it when people get flamed just because they don't have a goddamn disclaimer. Seriously, people? Do us writers look or sound like we own the original awesome? No. We don't. So STFU. This is FANFICTION people. We write to amuse ourselves. See? I don't own Hetalia, obviously. =)**_

It was another day for the nations to gather and hold a meeting, but this time, in America.

Alfred sat in his seat with his face in palm, uncharacteristically quiet for once as everyone else ran the usual chaos: Germany trying to bring order, France hitting on random countries, Russia threatening the general population with his pipe, China offering his snacks, North Italy babbling about pasta as his southern brother fought against Spain's advances, Switzerland shooting the ceiling with Japan pleading in defense, etc.

Another boring day.

America sighed. He had forego his usual explanation about giant robots during the quieter part of the meeting, and only sat and tried to listen to the others, twirling his pen and doodling on his papers for the majority of the time before the official meeting went to hell in an elevator.

'_So booooriiiingg,'_ the blonde nation thought lazily, chewing on his lip, pulling back a little as Prussia slid over the table, apparently having gotten hit by a certain Hungarian woman's infamous frying pan. '_Ain't cool at all. When will something different happen?'_ The American waited, as if expecting for his mental wish to be granted. When nothing explicitly new popped into existence, the Patriotic country stood up with a huff, chair scooting back with a slight squeal as he prepared to leave early.

'_Oh, screw this meeting,'_ America growled silently, gathering his paperwork. Then he paused. '_Screw…?'_

Involuntarily, the blonde felt his pants tighten slightly, and he sat down quickly, hands clenching.

It sucked being a teenager sometimes. Hormones messing with your mind and body are always inconvenient in important places.

Upside was that sex felt _awesomely amazing._

Major downside? To find someone in a matter of time to be a fuck-buddy with.

It was alright though, Alfred decided, mood more positive as he imagine the hot night ahead, and he licked his lips in anticipation… But said nonexistent night would have to be postponed until he could find someone willing to share it with him.

So who was to be the perfect bed partner?

America's eyes roved around the room before landing on…Germany.

He contemplated on the choice before deciding against it. He already screwed with the guy once (possibly several times, actually), and screwing the same people was just…_boring. _

And Alfred _hates_ being bored.

With that thought in mind, the American searched further. North Italy? He decided against that too, even though the Italian was extremely talented, but using pasta as…well, it was just _weird_. No wonder Feliciano was with Ludwig. Both had the weirdest kinks. And besides, Alfred already had his share of the bubbly nation.

Greece? Nah. The Greek was too laid-back. Sex with the guy was pretty good, but Alfred wanted more spunk. Also, he already had his turn(s) with the cat-lover.

Japan? No, once again. The Japanese nation was cute, but…he was rather boring. And he already screwed him, so yeah.

Ukraine? Nope. She's nice, but her boobs would crush him in his sleep. Just like that one time they had slept together…

Lithuania? Noo… the quiet nation was just that- _too_ quiet. And the times the two did the dirty was rather dull.

France? As much as the Frenchman was talented in the sexing area, America already had his fill.

Russia? Nah. He and Ivan were _too_ alike. It was kinda scary, thinking about that, but it was true. And besides, he already had rounds with the taller nation. Boring.

Switzerland? Kink with the guns is hot, but same thing over and over isn't as much fun as it use to be…

Lichtenstein? Nah, too gentle. Gentleness was nice, but gets rather bland at certain points.

Belarus? Oh, fuck _no._ Did the dirty with her _just once_, but holy shit, it was bloody. The knife wounds burned like a bitch after…

Sweden? Hmm…no. The guy was too stern, and only, like, worshiped Tino. How he managed to snag the Swede into bed was still a mystery…

Speaking of Finland…No. The guy was too chipper. A killer in the morning for the sleepy. And besides, the Finnish man worshipped Sweden in return…

China? No. The Chinese nation screamed too much, and always, _always_ had to directly scream in his ears, making them ring. And the sex was just okay. Boring.

As Alfred ran the list of names through his head, he suddenly realized just _why_ he was disagreeing to each and every nation.

He had already had sex with everyone listed.

Crap.

How the hell can he have sex with a nation if he already fucked every one of them and is now bored? Sure, he could go with an unexpecting human, but they were just too weak to handle his inhuman strength.

Desperate, America began looking around to who he hadn't screwed with yet.

Denmark? No, did him already.

Norway? Same thing as above.

Cuba? Same thing.

Canada? Above also. (Yeah, yeah, they were what, twins? But experimentation was pretty crucial back in the day, and 'sides, Canada was _boring, _anyways)

His eyes passed over everyone again, from Hungary to Austria, to Taiwan and the Korean brothers, he marked off, already had sex with them.

'_Holy shit,_' Alfred thought, sitting back in his chair, feeling hopeless. '_I already screwed with all these people! Sure…I can fuck them again…but it'll be too boring, and it won't feel as good…' _

And that's when his eyes landed on a certain, emerald-eyed, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

The American froze.

Then the gears begin rolling in his mind.

Had he had sex with England yet? Alfred tried to remember every time he had gone to the Brit's house, pubs, anywhere, and if he had done anything remotely dirty to the shorter nation, and came up blank.

Did he even _grope_ the English nation? Even _once?_

And the answer was…no. Not at all.

Alfred was astounded.

In all the times they had spent together, the times they argue, fight, and talk, _he had never had sex with __**England?**_The two were so intertwined in each others' lives, historically and politically, it's shocking that the rainy island wasn't Alfred's first partner.

That meant he would soon be.

Alfred faltered at the thought, though. Even though he had never screwed England, was it worth it to try and get the Brit into bed? England was old, stuffy, mood-changing, and just plain _boring._ And Alfred hated being bored.

But…

America stared at Arthur- who was busy glancing over important documents, and for once, wasn't arguing with anyone in the room- and took in the Englishman's pale features, sharp green eyes, and bright gold hair. All in all, England wasn't half-bad looking, but he wasn't a beauty either. Far from it, Alfred noticed distastefully, thinking that the Brit's large eyebrows were a horrible sight. Was bedding his former caretaker worth it? America wasn't sure, though, he _was_ curious about how England looked underneath all those clothes…the way the elder man moved showed he must be lean, lithe, even…but Alfred didn't know that, for he had never seen the latter naked.

He had never had sex with England.

The last thought made up America's decision, and he smirked.

He'll soon be seeing a more exposed Arthur soon…and even if the Briton try to resist him, it wouldn't work, because, really, who could resist America's looks and charm? No one.

Alfred finally stood up and began sauntering his way towards an unsuspecting England, cocky as he imagined what the night ahead would become.

"Hey, _Artie,_" America purred in the island nation's ear, having come from behind. Seducing England, part 1, was going perfectly-

And then the younger country felt the side of his face facing the Brit snap harshly to the side with a crack as England, who, hearing the abominable nickname, instinctively and irritably tried to spin around in his rolling chair to berate the person, but as he didn't know that the American was _right next to his face_, had accidentally slammed his own head against America's.

"Gah!" Alfred yelped, falling on his backside as he cradled his aching head.

"Bloody _fuck!_" England roared, holding his own, papers flying. "America- what the bleeding hell are you doing? Have you taking your 'nuisance-creating' to a whole new level by inflicting pain? Well, it bloody worked!"

"Me? 'Inflicting pain'?" The bespectacled nation protested, grimacing as his cheek throbbed. "_You're_ the one that inflicted pain! Look at my face! I just said, '_Hey, Artie'_, and you went ape-shit and hit me!"

"Don't call me Artie," Arthur snapped, eyes dark in anger as he glared down at the American. "And I didn't hit you, you bloody git! Your head was _right there,_ for god's sake- _why_ was it there, anyhow?" England paused, then shook his head. "On a second thought, what the hell do you want?"

America pseudo-pouted, face pain forgotten as he stood up. "Aww, what makes you think I want something?"

England scoffed. "The only times you talk to me is when we're arguing, or when you want something." The Brit's voice was bitter on the last bit of words, but America didn't notice. "And since we have nothing to argue about, then you want something from me."

Arthur had hit right on the nail about Alfred's motives, and the blue-eyed nation felt his lips twitch into an amused grin.

"I won't lie, Iggy," America laughed, ignoring England's scowl at the other nickname, and took a seat next to the Brit's own, lounging lazily. "So yeah, I want something."

The green-eyed nation gave him a suspicious stare, slowly taking his seat as well. "And what is it?" England questioned lowly, hands reaching out and straightening stray papers.

"Well, are you…free tonight?" The United States asked innocently, right hand waving to and fro in a lazy gesture.

"…Why…?"

Alfred inwardly snickered at the distrustful look the elder gave him (the way his gigantic eyebrows furrowed together made them look like furry caterpillars!), but he nonetheless smiled, leaning forward towards the latter, so close that he was practically in the Brit's bubble space, England's breath hitching at the proximity.

America placed his right arm on the table as the left gripped the Briton's chair, upper body leaning in such a way that one would think he was straddling the latter, and whispered, as if saying a secret, "We _have_ been in a 'Special Relationship', for some time, hmm?"

England gave him an uncomfortable, confused look, trying to lean backwards, but America's arm stopped him from moving far. "…Yes…" Arthur answered, not sure where this conversation was going.

"Well, since we're in the 'Special Relationship' in political ways…" America mused, breaths actually fanning across England's lips. Seeing green eyes widen at the closeness, Alfred went for the killer line, knowing that the Briton would understand and glorious sexy-time would begin! "Baby…why don't we make this relationship _legit?_"

Silence.

Grinning and thinking that the Englishman was stunned speechless by his awesome pickup line, Alfred moved in, intent on claiming the shorter's lips, when a laugh rang out.

America pulled backwards in shock, staring down at a laughing England. "What?"

"W-what the bleeding hell was that?" Arthur chuckled, pushing Alfred away. "Really? What in the world was, '_Oh, baby, why don't we make this relationship legit?' _rubbish?"

America glared, tick mark visible on his forehead as he grew irritated. No one had ever laughed at him like this when he was charming someone! They always fall for him! But here England was, laughing like an idiot.

"It's not rubbish," the American said flatly, getting even more up in England's bubble space, making the latter stiffen. "It was a pickup line."

Arthur gawked ungentlemanly at him. "A what?"

America huffed. "A pickup line! That's what! Don't tell me you don't know what those are." The younger paused, and scooted back, staring at the Brit's face. "Well…I suppose you don't know, since you don't even look hot enough to be told pickup lines to. But since I'm awesome and all, be grateful that I'm using my awesomeness on you!"

The eyebrow-endowed nation glared, but he cooly replied, "Of course I know what pickup lines are. But America, you were _never_ 'awesome', no matter what you stated. In fact…" The Briton leaned languidly in his seat. "That pickup line of yours was so bad, it shouldn't even be considered a pickup line."

Alfred gaped. "What? That was an _amazing_ pickup line! You're just too old to know the true awesome to see it!"

"You're too childish," England snorted, "I know you like to prank and tell jokes, but I simply don't have the time. Go do your work on other hapless fools, wanker."

With that word, the island nation tried to get up from his seat, intent on leaving the meeting early, but America's hand shot out and held him down. England glared at the offending limb clamped on his shoulder before moving his gaze to meet blue. "Let me go, git."

"No," Alfred retorted.

Arthur bristled. "'No?' Well, I'm going to-" He was interrupted and instead let out a gasp as America picked him up and deposited him on the meeting table instead, determined gaze locking green ones down.

"What the bloody fuck?" England began struggling. "What's gotten into you, you idiot!"

"What's gotten into me?" Alfred had to laugh at that comment. "No one, really, I hate receiving, but I think _I'm_ the one going to go into you, if you catch my drift." He winked, then went on. "And if you still don't get it, here, I'm going to put it clearly, okay?" The bright nation grinned as he started his explanation. "Iggy, the first thing we're going to do is go to my or your place. Then we will strip. And _then_ we will have sex. Got that?" He then beamed, proud of his awesome speech.

England stared. "Are you on drugs?"

America faltered. "What?"

Arthur raised an impressive eyebrow. "I asked if you're on drugs. Because that…explanation you gave me was extremely stupid, more so then your usual dose of stupid."

"I am _not_ on drugs!" The younger nation exclaimed, "If I said we're going to have sex, I mean it."

England frowned. "And why the hell should I comply with your request?"

America straightened, standing proudly as he declared, "Because I'm awesome and sexy. Who could resist me? And since I'm horny right now, you have to _comply_ with the hero's _request_ because he's _that_ awesome."

Alfred watched the elder nation's curious expression morph into anger, and he became confused.

"No." England's statement held no emotion, only coldness.

"What do you mean, '_No'?"_ America asked, baffled.

"I meant in 'No' as I refuse to have sex with you," England told him, hands trying to push the American off him. "I'm not an inanimate object, you moron, so you can't force me to do what I don't want to do."

The bespectacled nation stared. "You don't want to have sex with me…?" He glared. "But I'm awesome!"

"What kind of logical reasoning is that?" England hissed, "Now get off!"

America growled. "I want to have sex with you, and I'm going to have it! Even if I have to use brute force, no one can resist me! So take that, England!"

With that, the blonde swooped down, eyes only on the Brit's lips, when all of a sudden, England arched and brought his legs up and in between him and America's chest. With a grunt, the Briton pushed with his legs, successfully dislodging the younger from his body and sending him flying to the ground.

"Take _that,_ America," Arthur seethed, panting. "I'm resisting, all right."

America breathed harshly, having the breath knocked out of his lungs, but he managed to croak out, "Not for long!"

A strange look overcame England's features before, with a snort, he got off the table and began to gather his things. "You're so full of yourself, America." He gave a hard look towards the younger. "That cockiness is going to be your downfall, you git. Now leave me alone. I'm not going to be one of your wannabe fuck-toys, so sod off."

Alfred sat up, breathing hard, and shook his head. "Whatever you say, I still won't give up! Your ass is mine!"

Arthur had to smirk at that line. "My arse is yours, eh? Well, face reality, you brat, my ass has, and never will be yours. I'll be shocked if you even managed to somehow get the pants off me first, git, using your _oh-so-awesome _hero skills." Sarcasm especially lathered all over the statement.

Hearing those _cocky_ words from the Englishman's lips, Alfred saw _red_, and without even thinking what he was saying, he blurted out, "I'll woo the damn pants off you!

England felt his lip curl in amusement. "Woo me? Really now? You're just a _child_, Alfred, you can't woo shit. I bet you can't even woo a blasted baby of their candy."

"I can too, woo!" The American snarled, standing up to his full height. "And I'll show it by wooing _you."_

England yawned, stuff in arms as he turned his back, striding towards the exit. "Big words for an overgrown child. How original."

America sputtered. "I-I _will_ woo you! And it'll work too! 'Cause I'm that awesome! Then you'll see my amazingness and bow down to me, and we'll have sex, cause I'm that awesome."

"You have overused the word 'sex' and 'awesome' too many times, Alfred," England called back, "You…dare I say it?" The Briton tilted his head back, letting the younger nation see his smirk. "Alfred, you're rather _boring._ You talk big, but you can't do anything."

"I'm not lying!" Alfred yelled, hands fisting by his sides.

England laughed, reaching the doorway. Pulling open the door, the island nation turned back one last time. "You may not be lying," he said amiably, "But _this_ is what I think of your so-called declaration." He raised his middle finger and waved it mockingly at the stupefied American before spinning on heel and escaping via the exit.

Complete silence in the meeting room.

Hearing the silence, Alfred turned around to see that everyone had stopped what they were doing and was watching the drama unfold.

"What?" America scowled. "There's nothing to see!"

Canada broke the other nations' silence by uncharacteristically snickering. "Alfred…you just got served."

That did it.

As if the dam was broken, all the other nations began giggling and talking about the incident, shooting Alfred amused looks.

America felt his face redden.

His pride _hurt._ And it was all England's fault.

He growled as he remembered the Brit's mocking smile, cool words, and quick strength.

'_That's it,'_ America thought, making up his mind. '_I am going to win this and woo your pants off, England. And you won't be able to stop me.'_

Tomorrow was a new day, after all.

_**UnluckyWriter**__**: What. The. Hell. What did I just write? It's 3 in the morning, and looking back at this piece, it looks horrible. Ugh. It's rushed…messy…and just plain disgusting. I hate myself right now…Please don't hurt me for this horrible ass-wipe of writing. I'm sorry! I hate this chapter so much…I had the idea down, but putting it into words is harder than it looked. OTL**_

_**If I had made the characters so OOC that you don't like, then don't read. I admit, America's an egotistic jackass right now, but he'll get better in the story!….Maybe. And I didn't mean to make England look ugly, okay? That tidbit was from Alfred's POV (the blind bastard). I adore Iggy's eyebrows!**_

_**So yeah…**_

_**Anyone review?**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hidden In Plain Sight**_

_**Chapter 2**_

_**UnluckyWriter**__**: Wow, you people still reading this shit and thinking it's still shit? Well, guess what? Stop now, go back, 'cause from here on out, more shit's coming, yeah? XD**_

_**AND HOMGSHITABOVESANDBEYONDOMG. I. Love. You. People. When I opened my email, I nearly friggin' hemorrhage on the spot when I saw that my usually empty inbox was FILLED UP with fantastic alerts/reviews/favorites! My god. I love you all so much. *huggles scared reviewers* I love you all. Love you…so…much. *twitches happily* Even though I really don't understand how this…**__**thing**__**… could get so much attention. Rather scary…I like it.**_

_**Rating**__**: M**_

_**Warnings**__**: same as last chap, if you had bothered to read it, which you should, btw. Beware, though. SOME BAD, CRAPPY WRITING AHEAD!**_

_**Pairings**__**: USUK, past America/World, and various others…**_

_**Disclaimer**__**: Seriously, READ the last chap!**_

It was 8 o'clock A.M., and England had just managed to lock his front door when he turned around and saw the abomination.

The Briton gave a wordless stare as Alfred grinned and chirped, "Morning, Artie!", and proceeded to shove a large banquet of red roses and a box of chocolates in shorter nation's arms.

"…"

America cocked his head curiously to the side. "Hey, what's with that look? Aren't you glad to see me?" Today, the hamburger-lover was wearing a simple black tee and blue jeans with his trademark bomber jacket over his person. Even though the attire was rather plain, it showed off the American's good looks greatly. Only England wouldn't care to notice.

Arthur glared. "If I was glad, I wouldn't feel the need to shoot myself, now would I?"

Alfred winced. "Dude, that's _harsh."_

Ignoring the American's fake, pain-laced words, the rainy island got right to the point. "What the bloody hell are you doing here in London?" He shook the items in his arms. "And these…?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten, Iggy!" The bright nation exclaimed, pretending not to hear the other man's discontent at the nickname. "Come on."

England gave him a blank look, lips pursed.

Shaking his head like a teacher scolding a schoolchild, Alfred said, "I'm going to woo the pants off of you!"

Quietness ensued.

"You're not serious," England finally said, giving the American a disgusted look. "You're bloody _not serious."_

The younger nation grinned. "Yes, yes I am." He wiggled a sly eyebrow. "So, did my awesome, Hollywood-style wooing work its charm on you? Come on, it did, didn't it? Tell me!"

Arthur watched the American talk contemplatively before sighing. "Why don't I show you how your…wooing…reflected on me, instead?"

Was the Brit going to show him with a kiss?

America nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! You do that." He waited excitedly.

What he expected was unexpected.

Instead of a kiss, like the American had imagined, England instead stayed where he was, calmly drop the roses to the ground, and proceeded to raise a foot and stomp on the flowers, whilst throwing the box of chocolate carelessly behind him.

America stared in horror. "What are you doing?" He shrieked, looking mournfully at the flat, now dirty roses.

"I'm showing you how your 'wooing' was reflecting on my person," England stated tonelessly, walking past a stupefied American. "Now if you excuse me, I have better things to do than play games with a child. Good day." With that last word, the Brit opened the front garden door and strode outside onto the sidewalk.

Alfred felt his lower lip tremble in anger. How the hell did his spectacular wooing skills just got spectacularly shot down like that?

England was a hard nut to crack…but America can win, and he will! So he can't give up now, now when he's just starting! He was determined to get some unknown ass, and England's the only one suitable for the job, so hell yes!

His determination renewed, Alfred quickly ditched the scene of the 'rose/chocolate-mutilation', and ran to catch up to the stubborn British man.

Seeing England in sight, America slowed down, and within seconds, was walking next to the former.

"That was mean, Artie," America told the elder, frowning. "I bought those roses and chocolates personally just for _you."_

England scoffed, fixing Alfred a green-eyed look. "That wasn't mean, you git. That was the truth. And who said I wanted roses and chocolates? Let's see- no one."

The younger country blew a raspberry. "Nah, you don't mean that, Iggy-kins! Deep down inside, you're lonely and sad, so this _hero_-" Alfred pointed at himself to emphasize to show who was the heroic figure, "-decided to bestow you with his awesomeness and make you not lonely anymore! How does that sound?"

"It sounds revolting," the Briton answered, grimacing. "And stop calling me those asinine nicknames, you twat!"

Alfred just laughed it off, the two walking across the street filled with waiting cars for the green light, before saying, "Oh yeah, I'm going to stay in your house for a while, 'kay?"

England froze in the middle of traffic.

Alfred, seeing the light turn to green, quickly pulled the older man on the sidewalk, just missing a double-decker bus almost running down the Brit.

"Jeez, Iggy!" America yelped, patting England's back in a supposedly comforting matter, but slowly trailing down towards the latter's backside, "I know you're old and all, but you _gotta_ walk faster on the streets! You almost got killed back there!"

England slapped the American's hand away from his rear before backing up a few steps. "What the bleeding hell do you mean '_staying'_ in my house?" The Englishman bellowed, startling random citizens on the sidewalks. "_My_ house?"

Seeing that the elder man was making quite a scene in the neighborhood, Alfred lunged forward and grabbed the Brit's arm, dragging the protesting nation away.

"Ssh, Iggy!" America shushed, "You're scaring the kids!"

"No, no, no!" The rainy island punctuated each word with a sharp tug from the American's grip. "Why the hell are you staying in my house of all places? I clearly don't remember agreeing to let you stay in my home!"

"My boss said I should take a vacation away from work, since I'm such an awesome worker and all," Alfred explained, waving a nonchalant hand towards the other nation's face. "And he sent me here, since we're politically close, and also by the fact that the next world meeting is hosted by you. Extra bonus? I now have a better chance to woo you."

England blanched. "Not this wooing shit again! And the meeting's not until next month!"

America winked. "Then I'm going to have to stay with you for a month, right?"

"No, _bloody fuck_ no!" England raged, showing Alfred a threatening fist. "You're not staying with me at all! If you can't go stay in another country, go stay in a hotel or something, not my house!"

"Why, baby!" Alfred said, eyes widening in dramatization. "A hotel? So you want our first time in a love hotel? Don't mind if I do!"

"Fuck you!" Arthur snarled, face beginning to burn red. He turned tail and started running, shooting back obscenities and the like.

Alfred chuckled. "Aww, that's cute Artie, but I rather fuck _you_ instead!" The American also began to run, giving chase at that last word. Watching the Brit's moving back, Alfred's eyes slowly slid down without his say (yeah right), and he nearly stopped in his tracks at the _hot piece of __**ass**_flashing in front of him.

What the hell?

Now, _how the heck_ did he _never_ notice _that_ feature about England? If he had sooner, things would've probably been different. Like, Arthur would've been his first bed-buddy, duh.

America's thought process was interrupted as England's ass disappeared from view behind closing automatic sliding doors. What?

The bright blonde slowed down, glancing up at the sign adorning the place where England had escaped into.

_Mason's Grocery Store. __**(1)**_

Alfred was confused. Why exactly did England choose this English-styled Wal-Mart as his refuge?

Shrugging, the American walked inside the building. Cool AC air waved around his head pleasantly, and Alfred blinked as bright tomatoes and other various items of fruits and vegetables came into view.

"Artie?" America called out uncertainly. "You here somewhere?"

The Brit in mention didn't answer, but Alfred saw a flash of gold ducking behind a row of boxes full of broccoli on his left, and grinned. Walking silently over to where he deducted was Arthur's hiding spot, the American waited for Hollywood emphasis, before with a wild laugh, popped out around the corner, yelling, "Found you!"

No irritated British man was found.

America's smile dropped. "What the hell?" The bespectacled nation scratched his head, looking around the general area for his elusive prey. "Coulda sworn Artie was here…" he mumbled, crouching down and looking underneath the broccoli stand. "Hey Artie! You alive under here?"

"Right here, you git," came the reply, before a sharp kick was delivered to Alfred's backside, making him tumble headfirst underneath the broccoli stand.

"Aggh!" The American screeched, laying flat on his front. "W-what the-" Stuttering, he stood up shakily, dusting the dust off his rear as England glared down at him coolly.

"What the fuck, Iggy?" America hissed. "That kick to my awesome ass was fucking uncalled for!"

"Then stop following me," Arthur said primly, beginning to move away from Alfred. "And I'll stop abusing you."

"No can do," Alfred huffed, still peeved at the kick. "I told you, my boss sent me here!"

"Then book a hotel, you idiot!" England fumed, grabbing a shopping cart. "Just leave me the fuck alone!"

"But you and me were meant to be, honey~," said America in a sing-song way as he traipse lightly over to the Englishman, flinging a gloved hand on the handle of the cart. Apparently, the glasses-wearing nation had let go of his anger and had decided to put 'Woo England like Awesome' plan into effect. Talk about creepy mood-swings.

"You. Are. Disgusting," England told him darkly, smacking the American's hand away from the cart. "Back off."

"Oh come on," Alfred whined, nudging England's side with an elbow. "Don't be like that, Iggy, you know you love my attention."

"The day when I love your attention is the day Sealand becomes his own official country," England snapped, grabbing a bag and stuffing stalks of celery in it before slamming said veggies down in the cart. "And I told you to _go away!"_

America ignored the dismissal, instead, poking at the helpless plastic bag filled with celery. "Hey, Artie, whatcha got the veggies in the cart for?"

England mentally debated on whether or not to kick the younger nation in the gonads and proceed to run home and barricade himself in, but decided against it and merely sighed. "Where are we, Alfred?"

The hamburger-lover paused to think. "…The grocery store…?"

Arthur nodded encouragingly. "And what do normal, _sane_ people do in grocery stores?"

America snapped his fingers in triumph. "Buy groceries!"

"Good boy," England muttered, raising his big eyebrows. "I see you can use your brain."

America pouted. "That's kinda mean, Artie…"

"Stop calling me Artie," the older country answered, putting a bag of carrots in the cart to join the celery amiably. "Now sod off."

Hearing no answer, the Brit turned around, and not seeing the American in sight, slumped and sighed. "Thank god…"

His moment of thanking the lord above was soon scorned as the mentioned bespectacled nation appeared around a random corner and dumped some lettuce and tomatoes in England's cart.

"There ya go!" Alfred said cheerfully, patting the Englishman's back. "Lettuce and tomatoes, freshly picked, looking beautiful, and now in your cart!"

England stared in horror. "You git! You didn't even put those damn vegetables in a _bag!_ I knew you're unhygienic, but this idiocy has gone too far!" He froze. "Wait, why the hell are lettuce and tomatoes in my blasted cart? I don't recall asking for them!"

America laughed. "Silly Iggy! The lettuce and tomatoes are for my hamburgers. Duh."

England felt his right eye twitch. "Who the hell gave you permission to put _your_ vegetables in _my_ cart?"

"Me," the Patriotic country answered, ripping a bag from a nearby stand and beginning to stuff battered-looking lettuce and tomatoes in it. "But technically, Iggy, the cart ain't _yours_, it's the _store's_." He gave the shorter man a suspicious stare. "Unless you own the store, than yeah, it's yours."

"No, Alfred," Arthur said irritably, "The store is indeed not mine, but that's not the bleeding point! The point is, why the hell are your fruity greens in my bloody cart?"

"Easy," the oblivious nation replied, taking the cart away from the British man's slack hands and wheeling it to the bread aisle, "I'm staying at your house."

England began to seriously question his sanity as he roared out a, "_And when the fuck did I say you could even step foot in my house, git?"_

Alfred rubbed his ear in annoyance. "Iggy, do be quiet," he said, reaching on top of a shelf to grab some hamburger buns. "You're disrupting the general peace with your screaming." He stopped, forehead wrinkled in thought, before brightening with a grin. "But I don't mind when you're screaming _my_ name to the world, babe, especially when I'm busy screwing the dayli-"

"Complete that sentence and you'll regret the day you were ever born," England threatened, lips curled in a snarl. "And take those blasted buns out of the cart, you twit!"

"No way, Jose!" America retorted, resuming to pushing the cart. "Those are _mine!_ Mine to eat, mine to love!"

"Then take your goddamn 'love' away to a different location to devour!" The Englishman said exasperatedly, trailing alongside the taller nation. "Just go away and leave me alone!"

"Fine," America said, and England actually felt hope rise in him, before the younger nation continued talking. "I'll rephrase my love for these delicious buns. I love hamburger buns, yes, but what I really love more is _your_ buns, Iggy, if you get what I mean." The American leered pervertedly at Arthur, and the latter man flinched in mortification.

"You are the most repulsive thing I have ever cared to met," England informed the younger country before stomping grumpily away towards the bread baking in the ovens and other varieties.

America followed with the grocery store cart, snickering. "Aww~ so you _do_ care! I always knew you love me, Iggy-kins! So now let's go to your house and have awesome sex, okay? Since you love me and all."

"Screw you and your sick fantasies," England growled, not looking at Alfred. "One: I will not, I repeat, I will _not_ have sex with you, you moronic, horny bastard. Go screw a tree for all I care. And two: You are _not_ going to stay in my house. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Nope," America answered happily. "Whatever you say, I'm still staying at your house." He frowned. "Even though your house will be _boring_, since it's like an old person's house, which you are, by the way. Plus I'll have to see your scary eyebrows everyday." The blonde nation shivered. "Ew. But since I'm wooing you and all, I'm willing to suffer as long as necessary. It's all in the job description, baby! I'm a hero!" He proceeded to stick himself in a Superman pose.

England's eye twitched again without his consent, and before he could fully realize what he was doing, grabbed a French loaf of bread and whacked it against Alfred's face with a startling loud '_CRUNCH'._

America stared at him, stunned out of his wits as he rubbed the spot where the Briton had hit him with a wheat-grain item. "You just…you just slapped me! With bread!"

The rainy island nation couldn't help but let a sly grin appear on his face.

"Well, like the bloody Frog use to tell me," England said smoothly, holding the broken halves of the French bread, "It's the 'crunch' that determines the best in the bread, not the smell. And _this_ loaf is quite satisfying, as you can see." _**(2)**_

Alfred glared at the older nation as said man set the bread down with a rather cheerful sigh before going off to look at other items. Grumbling underneath his breath, the bespectacled country reached down and began rummaging around in the cart, and with a victorious noise, rose with found object in hand. He therefore than ambled towards England.

Arthur was busy checking the labels on the jars of jam when a sudden spike of pain came from his back and he nearly dropped the jelly. "What the _bloody fuck?" _The Brit screamed, spinning around to meet the cause of hurt.

America smirked, holding two broken halves of a random orange carrot. "Carrots are awesome!"

"You stupid arsehole!" England raged, waving a jar of strawberry marmalade intently at the American. "You just _stabbed_ me with a bloody carrot!"

"Hey, hey!" Alfred said in defense, holding up his hands in a non-threatening manner. "I was just testing it's 'crunch' on you! People say that the crunchier the carrot is, the more nutritional it is!"

"Liar! You just made that up!"

"Did not! You're just jealous of the carrot, old man!"

"If you don't shut your damn hole close, I'll shove a loaf of bread in it!"

The two were still arguing, this time over different, trivial things, 20 minutes later as they arrived to the waiting line for the cashier.

"You and your bloody, nasty coffee, my word-"

"Don't diss it, you senile grandpa! Tea's worse-"

England was about to hurl another reply when a small weight slammed into his legs. Startled, the Briton looked down to see a small child staring up back at him with big hazel-amber eyes. _**(3)**_

"I'm sorry for bumping into you, mister!" The kid squeaked, frightened.

Arthur's eyes soften imperceptibly as he crouched down, patting the child's soft, fluffy brown hair. "It's all right, little one," the personified country replied gently, "But be more careful next time, okay?"

The small human nodded quickly in agreement, chubby cheeks flushed a cute red.

England smiled at the sight when something on the linoleum floor caught his green eye. "What's this?" He questioned, reaching out to take a hold of a small, antique, black, model car '67 Impala. He held it out to the small kid. "Is this yours?"

The child flushed even more. "I-it's not mine!" He said, "It's going to be for my big brother!"

England raised an impressive eyebrow. "Oh? So I presume it's his birthday tomorrow?"

The little mortal shook his head slowly. "No. Big brother Dean's going away tomorrow, and I _know_ he likes cars, so I'm getting him this!"

Arthur met Alfred's gaze. "So, your brother is going away?" The Brit treaded softly, weary if the child was too innocent to realize the full extent of his own little words. "Is he going with your dad or mum? If so, won't you see him again?"

The child frowned. "No, no, Daddy say I can't go to where Dean's going to yet," he explained, "He said that Dean's going to where Mommy went!"

"And where did she go?"

The child beamed. "Heaven!"

Arthur's eyes widen likewise his taller companion.

"Sammy!" A handsome man called out, looking around. "Where are you? It's time to pay!"

"Coming!" The adolescent yelled back, beginning to walk in the direction to where Arthur assume was the father's. The child paused, looking up at England with big eyes. "Thank you for giving me back the car."

The rainy island shook his head gently. "It's alright, it _was_ yours first. I just returned it."

'Sammy' gave a big smile before walking past England to his father. "Here!" He proudly gave the model to the man. "Dean's going to love it!"

The father smiled softly back before giving the car to the cashier.

The cashier scanned it, checking the computer screen, and Sammy's dad handed over the money. A moment later, the cashier said apologetically, "I'm sorry, but the amount you gave me wasn't enough."

Sammy's face fell. "But-" he protested before turning to his father pleadingly. "Dad?"

The father shook his head sadly. "All I have left, Sammy," the man said rather hoarsely.

"But you _have_ to have some cash on you!" Sammy said pleadingly. "Dean's leaving tomorrow! He won't be able to come back!"

As the small kid continue to talk to his father, Alfred glanced at the price on the small screen.

_$50.00 _left.

The American felt his heart ache a little. The poor kid…his big brother was dying and he couldn't even give him one last gift before he went-

A pale hand held money up to the cashier.

The cashier looked surprised at Arthur as the nation gestured quietly towards the family talking in front of him.

'_The money is for them,'_ was the hidden message. _**(4)**_

The cashier nodded and took the money, and with an air of fake shock, loudly exclaimed, "Oh, I'm sorry! The rest of the money was behind the 20! I apologize for the inconvenience, sirs."

But any 'inconvenience' was lost on Sammy as he grinned a mega-watt grin.

"See, Daddy?" He giggled, a pure, innocent sound. "God answered my prayer and made sure you had enough money for Dean's gift!" He hugged his stunned father. "I'm happy, and Dean's going to be happy too!" He babbled, eyes shining. "Thank you, God!"

Watching little Sammy continue to laugh, Alfred felt an infectious smile come over his face, and he glanced over at Arthur, knowing that it was the Brit's hand that made one small kid ecstatic.

All of a sudden, he felt…warm. The good kind of warmth. Deep in his chest. Not knowing what it was, the American merely shrugged, dismissing it.

Minutes passed before Sammy and his father finally left, and it was then England's turn.

The Englishman was about to begin grabbing the items in the cart and setting them on the scanner, when he stiffened and stuck a hand in his pocket.

"Oh, it appears that I've forgotten my wallet at home," Arthur said, chuckling a little. "Silly me. I'm terribly sorry for wasting your time, I'll go put these things back now-"

Alfred held out his own wallet as he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, this guy is like, old and all, so excuse him for forgetting his purse and memory." He winked teasingly at the cashier. "You know how old people are."

"What the bloody hell was that about, Alfred?" England asked, looking grumpy once more. "I could've just bleeding shop on another day. And how _dare_ you make me sound senile to that cashier!"

"Dude, I didn't _make_ you sound senile, you _are_ senile!" America replied, shifting the grocery-filled paper bag more securely in his arms. "But forget that. Whyja help the kid?"

The Briton feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cut the lies, old man," America suddenly growled. "Tell me the truth."

England stared at the younger nation, obviously surprised at the quick mood-swing, but after a moment, turned away and began walking in the direction of his house.

"Come on, Artie!" Alfred begged, jogging a little to catch up. "You always seem the stuffy, Scrooge-type, so seeing you do that 'Good Samaritan' thing kinda freaked me out."

"You think I'm not capable of being even kind?" Arthur said, disbelief in his voice. "What kind of faith do you have in me, you git?"

"I didn't mean it like that!" The bright nation said hastily. "…Maybe. But just answer my earlier question, will you?"

Silence greeted him, and Alfred sighed, knowing that the Brit wouldn't answer…

"I helped him because I could," England finally said, looking down at the groceries in his arms. "That's it."

America stared at the other in something akin to shock, when out of the blue, he smirked.

Arthur gave the taller nation a strange look. "…What…?"

"You're such a softie!" America laughed jovially. "Who woulda guessed? But it's so _cute,_ Iggy!"

"D-don't call me that!" England protested weakly, feeling the embarrassment showing all over his face. "Shut up!"

But America continued to laugh and the British man scowled, ears red as he quickly stomped home.

Alfred finally stopped his chortling when they came into England's front lawn, and said nation slammed the front door of the house in his face.

The American blinked.

"Hey, Artie!" He called, kicking the door instead of knocking. "Let me in!"

England opened the curtain of the window next to the door. "I said that you weren't staying at my house," he answered behind the glass, smiling frostily. "So sod off."

America felt his jaw drop. "We're _still_ going on about this? Come on, Igggggyyyy! Let me stay!"

In response to that request, Arthur let the curtain fall, making the communication between the two virtually impossible.

Alfred stared accusingly at the front door. "Come on, Artie!" He hollered. "What if it rains or something?"

And as if the Heavens truly adored him, it began to _rain._

The hamburger-lover cursed his luck. "Damn it! Stupid London rain…" He hissed, kicking a stray rock as he tried to seek shelter underneath a tree. The effort was futile, for within moments, his body was practically _drenched._

America was just starting to shiver, and was just contemplating on whether or not he should ditch his tree-post to go somewhere warmer, when England's door opened and the owner peeked his head out, looking at America.

America stared back.

"Well?" England prompted, eyebrows furrowed together as he held the door open wider. "The groceries going to get bloody ruined if you stay out any longer…You coming in or risk dying out there?"

Alfred grinned. "I would say I would rather go in _you,_ but now I'm saying how much I adore you, need you, _love you._"

Arthur snorted disdainfully. "Get your lying arse inside, America. No one wants to hear your groveling, least of all me."

"Hell yes!" America whooped, dashing forwards and almost bowling the British man over in his haste to get inside.

Seeing the American dripped rain puddles on his wooden floor, England sighed, just wondering about his sanity of this decision.

And that's how America successfully managed to convince England to let him stay in his home.

_**UnluckWriter**__**: I'm DONE with this chap. *spazzes* And I know…this chapter is revolting and unoriginal, and whatnot, BUT I updated! And I have NEVER, EVER updated this quick. Lemme tell ya that.**_

_**(1) I got the name 'Mason' from the internet of some English grocery stores. It's not the exact same name, I just took 'Mason' and crammed the word into my twisted story.**_

_**(2) Got the bread term from Ratatouille, that awesome American, kids, Pixar film! So, like I mentioned. I don't own the movie.**_

_**(3) Sammy? Dean? The dad? Oh my, guess what TV show I just unoriginally added in here! XD Wee!chesters, ftw!**_

_**(4) Totally unoriginal idea. Based off of that internet paste thing, where the '67 Impala model car was a Barbie doll, and whatnot. Not my idea, of course! Just added in here because…I REALLY don't know why…**_

_**As you can see, the ending at the…well…ending, seemed rushed, sloppy, and just plain NASTY. I'm sorry, but I just managed to finish typing it at TWO IN THE FRIGGIN' MORNING. I'm tired. And possibly high from lack of oversleep right now. Sue me. So if this chapter wasn't exactly to your liking, well, I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! I MIGHT change it later…MIGHT.**_

_**And this MAY be the last chap of the week or so. School's starting next week, and band's been such a harsh toll on me. So I'm tired ALL THE FUDGING TIME, and stuff.**_

_**Anyone up to giving me reviews? The more reviews I receive, the more I get inspired, which will motivate me, which will make me type, AND which will make me update faster! Who likes that sequence? 8D**_

_**REVIEW YOU LOVELY PEOPLES YOU! Thank you. XD**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hidden In Plain Sight**_

_**Chapter 3**_

_**UnluckyWriter**__**: Oh dear lord…I screwed up so BAD on the last chap! *inaudible sob* I shame myself…that's it, no more writing late into the night!…But if I don't…then I won't find inspiration to type…what is with me and no win situations…?**_

_**Thanks for the lovely reviews, dear readers! I love you people! X3 143~!**_

_**And I promise, ONE day, I WILL fix all the darn mistakes in every chapter! I will! It won't be now…or tomorrow…and possibly not a month…since I get uninspired easily…I'll do it later. 8D**_

_**Rating**__**: M**_

_**Warnings**__**: Only this. You don't like, just hit the back button several times, okay? Oh, and bad writing ahead! And an unoriginal idea-plot. That, too.**_

_**Disclaimer**__**: See reference to CHAPTER ONE.**_

_**Pairings**__**: USUK, past America/World, and various others…**_

"I haven't been back here since what? 1990-something?" Alfred said, laughing as he shifted the paper bag items better in his arms. "And this place _still_ looks the same! Jeez, Iggy, you gotta spruce your house up a bit, yeah?" He nudged an elbow against a wall. "This place is so tiny!"

Arthur's house was made of red brick, two-stories tall, and quite humble, inside and out, consisting of soft colors, comfortable chairs, large libraries, and the like. Alfred's house was completely the opposite. It was _basically_ a mansion, filled with the most modern technology, games, and styles known to mankind today, and other various things that teenagers enjoy having in a spoiled like fantasy.

Needless to say, Alfred _would_ think Arthur's house was small and boring.

England glared at the oblivious American that had just _insulted his house_, quite miffed. "Quit your yakking and go put the bloody groceries in the kitchen." And adding as a side note, muttered. "Insensitive git."

America cocked his head slightly. "What was that, Iggy?"

"Never you mind," Arthur replied, slipping his shoes off and setting them on their respective rack. "And don't call me that."

"Yeah, yeah, you know you love it when I call you by your nicknames," America called back teasingly, already accommodating the Briton's kitchen area and sorting through various meats and vegetables.

The American paused when, all of a sudden, he heard England…addressing someone else that wasn't _him, _in the house.

"Flying Ming Bunny!" The Englishman's voice was warm and familiar at the name. "Be a friend and turn on the radio, will you please?"

'_Flying Mint Bunny?'_ The bespectacled nation thought incredulously. '_Who the heck's Flying Mint- oh. That guy. England's imaginary friend.'_ America had to shake his head sadly, pitying his elder companion._ 'Poor guy, old and senile, and doesn't even know that his imaginary friends just aren't real.'_

"Sorry to break it to you, Iggy," America said, sticking his blonde head outside the kitchen door and staring at England in a morose sort of way.

"Sorry to break it to me what…?" Arthur questioned suspiciously, disliking the American's look of pity.

Alfred sighed, not sure if telling England the real truth of his 'imaginary friends' was safe for the elder's sanity…and promptly dismissed the thought and decided to tell the other anyway.

"Well, I'm really sorry to say that your 'Flying Mint Bunny' character, isn't real-" America started to say when he was interrupted by the radio playing.

'_I turn my music up,_

_I got my records on_

_I shut the world outside_

_Until the light comes on_

_Maybe the streets alight,_

_Maybe the trees are gone-'_

America gaped wordlessly at England.

Arthur merely nodded. "This isn't such a bad song," the Briton admitted, right foot subconsciously tapping to the beat. "Very catchy, if I do say so myself."

"No! Not _that!_" Alfred burst out, waving his arms in a fidgety fashion. "I mean, Artie, you _were_ the one that turned on the radio…right?"

The rainy island nation gave him a deadpanned sort of glare. "You clot. Did you _see_ me going to the radio _that's in the kitchen,_ and turning it on?"

The bright nation gave the Brit a baffled look. "Then who turned the radio on?"

"Flying Mint Bunny, of course," Arthur said, frowning. "That _was_ who I was calling to, yes."

Another baffled look. "Babe…Flying Mint Bunny is not real. This makes it so that said nonexistent person can not turn on the radio." With that word, the American poked his head back in the kitchen.

Arthur followed, seething. "You idiotic git! Flying Mint Bunny is _too,_ real! You're just not pure enough to see him! And he's a flying rabbit, not a person!" He stepped foot into his food preparation area and stopped short. "…What the hell are you doing…?"

Alfred smirked, pointing accusingly at the ancient-looking radio. "I know your secret, Iggy!" The glasses-wearing nation announced triumphantly.

England felt a headache coming on. "And what is that?"

"It's voice-activated," the younger country said simply, gleeful. "And the password's 'Flying Mint Bunny'." He turned his attention to the radio. "Flying Mint Bunny! Turn _off_ the radio."

The radio continued its singing.

Alfred's face fell. "But-" A light bulb seemed to ding above his head. "Artie! You say it! Only your voice works with the password!"

"Really, Alfred…" England said dryly. "What makes you think my old radio is voice-activated?"

"'Cause no one turned it on, that's why!" America said determinedly. "I bet the reason why it looks like an old dino is because you're hiding how high tech it is!"

"And why would I hide that fact…?"

"Because you're scared that I would make my own voice-activated radio and become rich off of it. You're jealous of my awesomeness."

"…You're an idiot."

"No, I'm brilliantly amazing," America retorted, then his lower lip jutted out in a pout of sorts, and he widened his eyes, making the blue shine. "Come oooonnn, Iggy~!" He begged, tone seductive, fluttering his light lashes coyly. "Don't you think I'm the most hottest, gorgeous hunk of smexyness ever?" Before his one audience could put in a word, he answered instead. "And since I _am_ the most hottest, gorgeous hunk of smexyness ever, you have to listen to me. And so, saying that, I command you to turn off the radio for your hero!"

If the American had used his 'sexy-pout' on anyone else, they would have agreed that _yes, _yes the blonde was the most hottest, gorgeous hunk of smexyness ever, and would've gladly done anything the latter asked.

Frankly, Arthur thought Alfred just looked highly ridiculous. But since the American had insulted him, the house, and his sanity, he might as well pay back in full… And what better way than by playing along with the younger nation's 'wooing' games for a little while? His way, of course.

England strode over to America, lips pursed.

America halted his 'heroism' and stood still, feeling unreasonably nervous as he watched the Briton traipse slowly over before stopping in front of him, emerald eyes glittering mischievously.

Arthur leaned up, putting his lips directly close to the American's ear, whispering, "My _hero,_ hmm?" To add to the sudden change of mood, he placed a light hand on the taller's rain-soaked chest, pressing down gently, insistently.

Alfred's mouth quickly dried at the feel of Arthur's _warm, moist_ breath flowing against his ear, the heated hand on his shirt-covered skin pushing down, and _holy __**fuck**_- this was definitely _not_ the England he knew, this new person was- was-

England leaned back, eyes hooded slightly, the green that peeked out darkened in almost a sinfully appraising way, and America felt the latter's breath over his lips as the elder said, tone coming out in a cat-like hiss, "Command me, will you…?"

Alfred shivered at the latter's words, speechless, baffled. This wasn't the stuffy old England he remembered, for God's sake! So who the hell was _this_?

Arthur smirked at his former colony's shocked look, inwardly laughing at the turned tables. The Brit than decided to step it up a notch, moving closer and practically invading the taller nation's bubble space even _more_, if possible, green eyes locked onto bright blue, lips a few millimeters apart as the two breathed in each other's air. "Alfred…"

America gulped, gaze shifting down to the advancing Englishman's lips, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable outcome…

What he didn't expect was hearing an almost inaudible '_click'_, the music from the radio cutting abruptly off, and England stepping back, arm swinging back from behind America's form hiding the radio to his side, change of mood saying, "There. I turned it off."

Alfred felt his eyelids snap up as he stared in a wordless way at the elder. "What…you…"

England raised a dark eyebrow. "Hmm? Why so shocked, America? I did what you asked and turned off the radio, did I not?" With that answered, the Briton promptly pivot on heel and began striding away, whistling a soft, jaunty tune.

America felt his cheeks warming up, and he brought a gloved hand to his lips, watching his ex-guardian's receding back with wide eyes.

What the _hell_ just happened?

For one moment, Alfred had thought that England was-

The American shook his blonde head furiously.

No! England was _not_ hot, no matter how dark and glittering his eyes were, or his playful smirk, or his different attitude, England was still _England_. The old, stuffy, stubborn, boring, and bi-polar nation that America had always known…

Or thought he knew.

Years has passed since he and Arthur had spent quality time together, people change over time, so how well did he know England _now…_?

Thinking that, America suddenly remembered how close the smaller country was, how warm he had felt, how _close_ he was to his lips, which he had expected England to- the flush on the bespectacled nation's cheeks grew more pronounced. Why the heck was he embarrassed? Well, he _was_ trying to woo the old guy, and kissing's involved in said wooing, so _that's_ the reason why he's embarrassed! That he didn't grab the elusive chance and leaned forward to kiss England! Duh.

A pang went through his chest, and for a split second, Alfred wondered somewhere in the deepest, darkest part of his mind if that truly was the reason why and not because of a different reason, but he merely dismissed the forgettable thought. It wasn't like he had a crush on England or whatever, even if the other was somehow surprisingly _slightly_ attractive.

America nodded triumphantly at his thought process, blush now nonexistent. To successfully woo England and get into his pants, Alfred must take every single chance to kiss him! The incident of 5 minutes ago was an epic fail, but he learned from his mistakes and it won't happen again. He _will_ win, because really, all heroes _always _win, right? Right.

So with that mental pep talk, American turned, determined to woo England like a boss and get him into bed, when he saw said nation shift, setting something down on the dining table.

Curious and 'heroic goal' temporarily forgotten, the bright blonde went over to said table to investigate the mystery object. Seeing it up close, he froze, staring.

"Hey, Artie…" America said, frowning a little in confusion. "Why is there dog crap on a plate…?"

Arthur, who was still smug from tricking Alfred, was currently putting some cans in the pantry. "Hmm? What do you mean?"

"There's dog shit on the plate," America told him, eyeing the plate distrustfully.

He swore on all the hamburgers he owned that the dog shit was _speaking_ to him with a nasty brown mouth, and call him insane, but it was _true._

"_I'm not dog shit!" _The dog crap screeched, sounding quite angry, "_You want to die, git?"_

Okay, he was _seriously_ getting a little scared, since the supposedly inanimate dog feces could talk, and in a British accent, too? Now that he thought about it, the dog crap voice sounded suspiciously like-

"That's not dog shit, you idiotic Yank!" England all but roared a second time, the first time being after he heard America calling something 'dog shit on a plate'. "You uncultured wanker!"

"What?" Alfred protested, holding up his hands defensively. "It _looks_ like dog shit! Okay, sure, I can't _smell_ it, but I'm 100% sure that that thing would smell like dog shit!"

"It's not!"

"Fine! Than what is it, old man?"

Arthur glared at him frostily. "It's dinner."

Alfred made a face. "You lie."

The bushy-browed nation scowled. "Fine. It's actually leftovers. But I refuse to let good food go to waste, so we're eating it."

Alfred gaped at him in horror. "No! That _thing_ can't possibly be food! I refuse to eat it!"

"Then starve for all I care," England retorted, already beginning to set spoons and forks on the table. "But I assure you, that _'thing'_ you affectionately named it, is food."

America crossed his arms, squaring his shoulders challengingly. "Oh yeah? Well, what _is_ the food, then? Since I'm blind to the sight before me, you can tell me what it is."

The Englishman had to falter, because honestly, after the things that happened today, he had forgotten the daily routines from yesterday. "Well," he began, looking at the 'food' contemplatively. "I'm quite sure that that piece right there is a bit of roast beef."

His younger counterpart gave him an unimpressed look. "Which piece? Because everything on the plate looks the _same, _Artie."

England bristled at the nickname. "Don't call me that, you twat!" he snapped, grabbing a fork and stabbing it viciously into the 'roast beef'. "_That's_ roast beef! It's not my fault that you're legally blind!"

"Uh huh, right," America fake agreed before snatching up a spoon and pointing it accusingly at another section of the plate. "Then what's that?"

Arthur faltered once again, just wondering at what the hell he ate yesterday. "Er…I'm quite sure that that's potatoes."

"'_Quite sure,'_" Alfred quoted snottily, "That makes it all better. If _you_ can't even tell what kind of food that is, then it's no longer food! We're not eating it."

"Who's asking for your opinion!" England exclaimed heatedly, "_You're_ in _my_ house, without permission, so saying that, you have no right to tell me what to do or not to do! No objections!"

"Objection!" Alfred piped up, clearly ignoring Arthur's demands. "And _you_ invited _me_ into _your_ house! That's permission right there! So I do, too, have a right! And I say we don't eat that shit, since you can't even discern it from feces to _real_ food!"

"That _is _real food," England growled, feeling like he was about to go insane.

"You can't cook, Artie," America told the latter sadly, shaking his head. "That's why you can't see the light, the meaning of _real food._" He fixed the other a determined blue-eyed look. "That's why I'll help lead you down the road of good cooking so that you can finally eat your grub without dying."

"Oh, screw you," Arthur said disgustedly. "I can _too_ cook! And I'll prove it to you by eating the potatoes and _not_ dying!"

With that declaration, the Briton therefore proceeded to yank the fork out of the roast beef with a sickening '_squich'_, and scoop up some potatoes, bringing the 'food' laden dining utensil to his mouth to eat said 'food'.

Alfred's eyes bugged out and he almost hyperventilated when, once again, he swore he saw the shit that was on the Brit's fork jeering at him, "_Mwahahaha! We won! Your England will eat us and __**die**__! Mwahahahahaha~!" _

In horror, America shrieked, "_NO!"_, lunged over the dining table, and with another wild cry, slapped the fork out of Arthur's hand.

"What the bleeding _fuck?"_ England hollered, leaping to his feet as his fork and potatoes flew elsewhere. "_What the hell, America?"_ His stopped short, eyes wide. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Put that plate down!"

"Saving you," Alfred answered calmly, holding the cause of the elder's distress. "And to do that, I have to dispose of this." To finish up his promise, the blonde walked over the Brit's rubbish bin and primly dumped the leftovers in, feeling great satisfaction well up in him at the sound of the 'food' hitting the bottom.

Arthur twitched at the noise, eyebrows furrowed. "…You stupid git…" he began, and then he combusted. "_You wasteful, revolting, gormless, son of a-_"

"You'll thank me later," America simply said, setting the plate down on a counter.

"Thank _you_? This was payback for tricking you earlier, wasn't it?" Arthur accused, shaking a fist at the glasses-wearing country. "It is!"

Alfred paused to think the accusation over. "Well…maybe. Either way, I'm cooking."

England twitched again. "Fuck. You. Go ahead and starve!"

Alfred rolled his eyes like he was a sane genius. "I don't mind starving, Iggy, but since that was the last of your…'cooking'…you have nothing else to eat, either."

England lifted his chin defiantly. "Who says I don't have any more food, twat?"

Instead of answering the Briton verbally, America merely opened the refrigerator. Emptiness yawned before them.

"…"

"…Well…" Alfred broke the silence.

Arthur deflated. "…Damn you…" was all the Englishman could say.

America gave a victorious grin. "Ha! See what I mean? The hero is awesome!" He fist pumped the air. "And since it's getting late, there's nothing else in the house that's edible, and your cooking sucks, _I'm_ cooking."

England bared his teeth in a snarl, blazing green eyes narrowed. "Not a chance," came the hiss. "_I'm_ cooking."

Alfred just smirked in response.

And then the chaos truly began, as, with a 'gentlemanly' curse, England practically flew and opened the pantry, a spoon hitting the Brit's rear as America retaliated the best he could, and more cursing, crashing, and food items thrown around ensued in the next few seconds.

Needless to say, it was 'cooking' to the extreme.

An hour and a half later, the two sat down to a table filled with pasta salad, rolls, grilled chicken, and glasses of water.

"There we go~!" America exclaimed happily, looking a bit sooty and dusty. "Dinner's finally done!"

England glowered moodily at him, looking also sooty, except with colorful smears over his green sweater vest. "You had _barely_ let me cook…"

"That's a lie," Alfred replied, holding a burnt roll. "Just _look_ at this! I feel like I'm about to choke and die just looking at it!"

"That was an accident!" England snapped, tearing a piece of chicken with his fork.

"Oh, so burning the pasta salad _wasn't_ an accident?" The American asked deceptively sweetly, a spoonful of said slightly charcoaled food item. "I see."

"At least I'm not the one that decided to make rainbows all over the place using food coloring," the Brit bit out snarkily before proceeding to stick pieces of bright pink chicken in his mouth. "That was highly idiotic."

"I was just trying to help," America pouted, sipping some water. "You were talking to your imaginary fairy friends, and I thought that they were associated with rainbows and stuff, so I decided to make my own rainbow to help you regain your sanity."

"I _am_ sane!" The island nation defended. "It's not my fault that you're not pure, now is it? And you idiot, rainbows are associated with unicorns mostly!"

"Unicorns. Right. I'll remember that next time I go rainbow-loving," the Patriotic country laughed. Than a sly smirk slid over his face. "So…pure…huh? Does that mean if I-"

"Finish that statement and I will stuff the rest of this bastardization of chicken down your throat," England said pleasantly.

"Just saying, Artie, no need to get all pissy," America said breezily, smirk still in place.

The two nations continued eating, and in some time all the food was gone, minus crumbs and whatnot, signifying that they were done.

"Dear _god_, no," England suddenly heard America say as he set his plates and silverware down in the sink.

"What is it now…?" The elder country sighed, fixing a tired, green gaze on the younger.

Alfred gave him a mortified glare. "How could you, Iggy?"

England was beginning to get irritated at being accused out of the blue like that. "What is it, you prat?"

"You don't have a dishwasher!" America exclaimed hotly, gesturing around the general vicinity of the kitchen. "What the heck, old man? Are you that old-fashioned that you can't even bother to install a dishwasher around here?"

"Are you so lazy that you can't wash dishes by hand?" Arthur mimicked the other's tone perfectly. "What? Gotten so soft that you can't wash a couple of spoons without breaking a nail?"

Alfred puffed his cheeks childishly. "Who says _I'm_ going to wash the dishes?"

"And who says that I'm _not_ going to shove this spatula up your arse because you're lazy? Let's see, no one," England shot back, holding said utensil threateningly.

America felt a grin dance onto his kisser. "Oh, _yeah, _you would like that…" He wriggled his eyebrows to prove the underlying innuendo. "But no thanks. I would prefer to use _my_ spatula on you, if you can understand."

The British nation shot him a repulsed look. "You are the most sickeningly disgusting wanker I've ever cared to meet, almost more so than the bleeding _Frog_. I suppose you're proud of that fact."

"Nah," America disagreed, moving to stand next to the shorter personification. "I'm more awesome than that pervert, like, by a gazillion times. Infinity, even."

"Lies," England scoffed, shifting to let the American accommodate the right side of the sink. Leaning a little, the Brit turned on the water, handing the sponge to his taller companion. "Now wash, git."

"Why do I have to wash?" Alfred protested, taking the sponge. "I'm the guest around here!"

"That's the reason why," Arthur answered wryly, putting some bowls in the sink. "You're an _uninvited_ guest. An _annoying_, uninvited guest. So work to earn your keep, you lazy clot."

"Artie, you keep on forgetting that you did, in fact, _invited_ me inside your home," the Superpower nation whined, scrubbing a defenseless platter roughly. "And you're such a slave driver!" He paused. "But I guess that's not such a bad thing after all…you commanding me to go faster and-" The American's fantasizing speech was interrupted with an irritated British elbow in his gut.

"Shut the fuck up and wash," England ordered crossly, silently relishing in the younger's pained choking as he dried some spoons and settled them in the rack.

"Come on, seriously," America gasped, body in a strange leaning position from the elbow attack. "Why don't you have a dishwasher?"

"It'll be a bother to install those infernal contraptions," the Briton told him, wiping some cups. "And besides, washing and drying by hand keeps me busy. Unlike _some_ lazy people." He gave a pointed look at the sunnier nation.

America glared. "You don't know how much you sound like a crotchety old man, right now. And busy…? You know, there _is_ another way to stay _busy_." He leered closer to the Englishman. "How about we go upstairs to your room and I could show you the various ways…?"

England shot him the bird. "How about we forget all about that shite and you continue working to save your life? Trust me, you should follow my advice."

Alfred merely stuck out his tongue playfully, blue eyes shining. "You know you love my ways."

"I would love it more if you don't talk as much," the Brit responded, not looking at the other.

For the next couple of minutes, the two nations worked jointly in washing and drying, when all of a sudden, America said, "Hey, I just realize that we fight over the most stupid things."

England raised an impressive eyebrow. "You just realize that? How sad. But your point…?"

"That's mean, Artie," the bespectacled country said dryly, "I just wanted to comment on the fact."

"Why?"

America shrugged. "It seems to be that in all the times we talk one on one, we always have to fight. Take a look at the radio, kitchen, and cooking fights, for example! I mean, I always thought you hate trivial fights, so why fight like that with _me?_"

Silence.

Alfred turned to peek at the other and saw some kind of unknown emotion swirling in green depths. Somehow, it made his own heart beat faster, his lungs contracting painfully, and his mind's voice whispering inaudible words that made him feel regretful at his choice of words, making him wanting to take it all back, but he didn't and couldn't.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" England finally managed out, voice strange and strangled sounding. The Briton tore his gaze away from blue eyes, quiet.

And Alfred let that silence hang, uncomfortable, and the feeling of remorse still lying in his chest, the cause, he didn't know.

Finally, the last cup was washed and dried, and England placed his rag down, sighing in relief. "There. All done. Now, time to-"

"Movie time!" Alfred exclaimed excitedly, flinging the hapless sponge into the sink.

Arthur gave him a deadpan sort of glare. "What?"

"Movie time!" His younger companion insisted.

The English nation scowled. "Why in the Queen's name are we going to have 'movie time'? Don't you know what time it is? It's 10:30! At night!"

"And it's 4:30 in the afternoon at my place!" America said, clamping a slightly damp hand onto the Brit's wrist, dragging said nation over to the living room. "I can't sleep yet!"

"So why don't you go watch the blasted movie by yourself?" England yowled, trying to break the iron-clad grip. The he stopped. "No, wait. Don't tell me. You have _another_ of those horror movies."

America snickered. "Don't worry, Iggy~! If you're scared, I'll protect you! That's what heroes do!"

The elder man gave him a sour glare. " Shouldn't I be asking you that? You know how you always react to them, so why rent them in the first place? And I don't want to watch said movies anyhow, so let me go to bed!"

"We can both go to bed and have sexy time later, but now, since you're the host, you have to help entertain the guest by watching a movie with said awesome guest!" Alfred said, grinning an ear-splitting grin as he dragged the Brit successfully in the living room.

"Screw you and your ideals!" England snarled, dragging his heels into the wooden floors. "But the thing is, America, I have no horror movies in my house, so we _can't_ watch it."

"Oh, it's okay," the sunny nation said breezily. "I brought some myself."

England froze, stopping the American in his tracks. "The movies are in your jacket…? Shouldn't they be ruined from the rain by now?"

"Silly England," America laughed, turning to pat the stupefied Brit on the back. "I'm not stupid enough to store 'em in a place where they could get ruined! They're in my bags!"

Arthur began to get a bad feeling. "And where are the bags…?"

"In your room!" his ex-charge answered happily.

England gave the latter a mortified stare. "What the bloody hell do you mean '_in my room'_?" he raged, smacking the American's arm angrily.

America winced at the blows, but still replied, "Like I said! They're in your room!"

"And how did they get there?" The hysterical bushy-browed man screeched. "I clearly remember you not carrying anything but some flowers and candy and groceries today!"

America rolled his eyes. "I put them in your room before this morning, duh. And I wonder why people call you smart…"

"But I lock my doors and windows!" England burst out.

"Well, the hero _does_ have his ways…" America trailed off.

"You _bastard_," Arthur seethed darkly, "I should report you to the police!"

"You wouldn't do that, Iggy," Alfred assured the elder. "Now sit! The movie's already in the DVD player."

"I hate you," England finally stated after being manhandled on the couch. "I irrevocably, unconditionally _hate you._"

"No you don't~!" The glasses-wearing 'git' chortled, taking his seat after turning off the lights and the DVD player on. "You love me."

The island nation merely huffed, settling more comfortably down into the couch as he resigned himself to his fate. "Damn you. What are we watching anyway…?"

"'_Dead Silence'_," Alfred answered, tone dropping in a Hollywood rendition of a scary voice.

"What is with you and picking scary movies to keep you up at night?" England groaned, hand massaging his temples. "Why must you do this to me?"

"Scary movies do _not_ scare me!" America argued, slinging an arm around his smaller companion. He winked. "But hey, if you get scared, don't be. 'Cause the hero is here!" He snapped a thumb up for emphasis.

"Stop defiling the Queen's English, you git," Arthur weakly snarled. "And it's not me that's going to be frightened. It's you."

"Yeah, right," America snootily retorted, "That's not going to happen."

At that particular moment, lighting and thunder decided to make it's presence known.

America squealed and jumped at the sudden noise, arms going around England like a boa constrictor.

"My point exactly," Arthur said matter-of-factly.

Alfred glared, hands unwinding themselves from the Brit's form. "Shut up! I got surprised! It won't happen again! I'll prove it to you that I totally won't get scared after watching the movie!"

"I'll believe you when Canada gets famous."

"Who? Never mind! I _will_ prove it!"

Several stormy hours later…

"_Oh my god-NOOO!"_ America sobbed, arms choking the life out of England as he sat in the latter's lap. "Help!"

"L-let go!" Arthur wheezed, hand struggling to turn the movie off by using the remote. "It's not real! Look! I turned it off! The movie's over!"

"Oh, it is?" America looked up, letting go of the irate British man and climbing out of his lap. "Haha! You should've seen the look on your face! You were totally scared, old man!"

England felt an irritated headache coming on. "Really now. Who was in who's lap?"

Alfred blew a raspberry. "I was just acting scared to comfort you! That's all."

"Umm hmm."

"It's true!" The Patriotic country insisted. "I wasn't scared! So if you get lonely and frightened during the middle of the night, just tell me and I'll go and sleep in your room with you, okay?" A sly wink.

Wanting to wipe the stupid smirk off the American's face and knock his pride down a few pegs, England slowly intoned, "If you scream, if you cry, Mary Shaw will come and rip your tongue out."

Big mistake.

Which was why America was huddled on the Englishman's bed, arms wrapped around knees tightly as the Brit took a good, long, shower.

"I'm just here to get me some ass tonight," Alfred muttered, shuddering a little as another peal of thunder roared out. "Hey, Artie!" he called out hopefully at the closed bathroom door. "You want me to take a shower with you?"

"Not a chance," Arthur replied, opening the door and walking out, clad only in sweat pants, chest bare.

America stiffened, staring at the naked, pale flesh. Holy _hell_, if England's chest area was that sexy, then he just _had _to wonder what _all _of the Brit looked like…

As if sensing how the American's eyes roved over his skin and scars, Arthur stomped over to the dresser and took out a white T-shirt, slipping it over his head and letting it lie against his form.

America pouted. "Aww, come on, Iggy! I was having such a _great_ time looking at you…but I suppose you wearing your 'un-snobby, un-high-and-almighty, un-fancy' American-style clothes can do just _fine._"

England scowled. "Screw you. And aren't you supposed to be in the guest room? This is obviously _my_ room."

America laughed nervously, hands fisting the sheets harder. "Haha, I'm just here to help comfort you! I mean, that movie _was_ scary, even to _me,_ so-"

"Get out." The Briton said stonily.

"But-"

Thunder crashed and Alfred leaped, taking refuge by sticking his head underneath England's pillow. "Alshimt! I'mscared!"

Arthur raised an amused eyebrow. "What was that, America? I couldn't hear you."

Alfred mumbled something, voice muffled.

"If you don't want to say, then you might as well get out," England warned, stepping closer. "All right. Get going-"

"I said I was scared!" The younger nation burst out, picking the pillow up and glaring moodily at the island country. "Happy, now?"

"Hmm," England thought it over. "Yes. But you still have to go back to your own room."

"No!" Alfred pleaded, "Please, Artie! Have mercy on this smexylicious American! _Please._" The last word was quietly whispered.

Hearing how pathetic the younger sounded, England gave in, sighing. "Fine." He fixed the brighter nation a pointed glare. "But do anything perverted and you are gone, do you understand?"

America nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Thanks, Artie!"

"Don't call me that," Arthur grit out, feeling like he was going to regret his decision later.

The Englishman strode over and turned off the light, bathing the bedroom in darkness that was only illuminated by flashes of lighting.

America froze. "England…?"

"Here," came the British voice, and Alfred felt the owner's bed dip slightly, indicating the new body.

He immediately lunged forward. "Artie!"

"You git, let me lie down at least," came the muffled growl, and America complied, waiting for the elder nation to lie before scooting closer and wrapping long arms around said nation.

Arthur sighed. "Let go, America." He felt the younger male instead move closer, chest touching his back, hands rubbing circles into his waist.

England was freakishly _warm_, Alfred just realized, and it felt wonderfully _nice_. He felt the firm, thin Englishman's back touching his Superman logo T-shirt-clad chest, and he shivered slightly, just wanting to feel a lot _more_ than a back. His circling hand began to drift downwards.

Arthur, feeling the American's hand beginning to wonder, frowned angrily at how the latter just didn't like to listen to his warnings.

"Alfred."

"Hmm?" America questioned, left hand still going lower.

"In the table right next to my head is a pistol. Which is loaded." England waited for the reaction. Right on cue, he felt the Superpower stiffen and the hand stopping.

"If you continue what you're doing and ignore my warnings, don't think I won't use said pistol on you," Arthur said lowly, "And if it _indeed_ happens, and I _somehow_ miss, there's always that cutlass I have in the closet…" He let the threat trailed off mysteriously, letting it be placed in effect.

Alfred swallowed. "You…you wouldn't do that," he said, trying to see through the ex-pirate's bluff.

"Try me," England simply answered. "Now let go."

"But- come on, Artie! I don't want to let go!" America protested, tightening his grip.

"So?" The island nation bit out, a little bitterly. "You let go once before, how is this time any different?"

Awkward silence.

Alfred somehow knew that the elder wasn't talking about mere physical contact anymore.

Thunder once again interrupted their moment, and America squeaked, feeling his body involuntarily shaking.

Feeling how the younger's form shook, England felt himself soften a little. "You're still scared of thunder, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"N-no…" Alfred whispered, eyes closed tightly, hands covering his ears after having left the Englishman's form some time ago. "I'm not scared, I'm not scared, I'm _not…_"

It was a little funny, England thought, thinking how America went through wars, seen death, pain, horror, had killed, and even though all those things were frightening, the American was _still_ scared of thunder. Just like when he was younger…

Arthur turned into the younger nation's direction, wrapping warm arms around him and moving the blonde head underneath his chin.

America froze at the contact, eyes opened as, with a soft sigh, England took his glasses and placed it elsewhere before returning to hug his form.

"Arthur…?"

"Shush, now." Came the low command. "Go to sleep, America…"

Unwillingly, Alfred felt his eyes beginning to shut against his will, feeling England's soothing hand petting his hair, and he figured that with the elder nation like this with him, he wasn't as scared anymore…

The two slept through the stormy night, clinging to each other as closely and intimately as possible.

**UnluckyWriter: Oh, ugh. *Looks back at writing* Oh, dear god. This….is…..horrible. I'm ashamed. *sob* I know, it's ugly! I haven't had as much internet, so if some of the information in here is all screwed up WRONG, then blame my utter lack of ignorance! *goes off to die***

**So yeah, totally unoriginal plot. I'm sorry. But that was just my idea…and yes, I know in some parts its so choppy, the grammar's horrible, and everything else is just plain revolting, but I have the older version of Microsoft Word Processor, so the spell check is outdated on here! So all I'm relying on is my own knowledge of spelling…and yeah, the British-ness in this fic is plain EPIC FAIL. *chokes* No internet= fail attempt at research. No library time= fail attempt of even TRYING to research.**

**Yeah…Also, I know this is listed under the 'Romance' genre, and I know, you people are probably wondering (not) about why it isn't listed as a 'Romance/Humor' thing. Well, that's because…I have big plans for this fic. Yeah. :3**

**So…Reviews, anyone?**


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